Tooth and Nail
by batistaangel15
Summary: 8/31/15 Raw fallout. Dean and Roman reflect on the beat down from the Wyatts and their newest member Braun Strowman after his first match.


**A/N: Now that the site's back up I figured I post this. First wrestling fic *gasp* I'm shocked myself. Hopefully I can make more of these in the future. So this past Monday night's actions with the Ambreigns/Wyatt feud is the cause of this. Well, that and boredom with a dash of writer's block. Braun is a monster and needs to be slain. Anyways, apologies if anything seems OOC. Rated T for language.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own WWE or any of its members as it turns out. If I did, I would revert back to the Attitude or Ruthless Aggression Eras.**

* * *

 **Tooth and Nail**

He fucked up, he had to admit it. Big time. Willing to take responsibility in a mistake was what he would do. But there was nothing more he could do to stop the behemoth in its path of destruction. He did what he and his brother always did—fought to an end until they couldn't stop. It backfired.

He tried to help and it only made things worse, but there wasn't anything that could make it better if they looked at it. As if it couldn't escalate any _more_ than it already had when he tried to tackle the gorilla to the ground since the bell rang and the match started. But it had seemed like he was entering his death coming toe-to-toe with the man before it even sounded, every hit being ricocheted back to him ten fold, a hundred times harder than his own.

He faced it with vigor and heart, though, he couldn't deny himself that.

Even now everything seemed blurry to him, almost like he was thrown into a cannon and shot out like a torpedo, soaring and exploding on contact when slamming into a flat surface. Of course how else could one feel when they were being thrown around weightlessly and negligently, becoming a life-sized ragdoll for a beast? He's been thrown around by monsters before and men that could pass for the real life evidence that Sasquatch exists and was just a bit shaven, but nothing hurt him this much is a while. Not just physical pain marked with black and blue bruises or red grooves in his skin painted on him from various points in the arena, which were proof to remind him of the whirlwind he just went through in case his mind betrayed him, but what really hurt him wasn't so much the pain he suffered.

No. It was worse. It was the pain that his brother went through. For him.

Having someone there for you and to always have your back to lead you through the troubles and stand by you through thick and thin, there to pat your back when things were glum and terrible, to smile at you in encouragement when everything was hard and never going your way, there to hold your hand or doing an arm around your shoulders to comfort you when the burdens were just too unbearable to deal with. Brotherhood always came first, and that's what Dean and Roman always lived by. It was in their blood. Their code. Chivalry. And what happened tonight was no different than any other time they went down in a ball of fire at the hands of the Wyatts.

One of the last things Dean remembered was when Braun took him over to the padded barricade after being thrown over the announce table—no, not even thrown. That was too simple of a word to use. Flown was probably more appropriate. His head was pressed down at the meaty hands of that beast, crushing him down with all his might. His eyes were shut as he fought past the pain shooting through his head and the blood rushing in his ears but when he peeked them open he saw Roman standing by the steps, his steel blue eyes locked on the monster, his fists clenched as he shockingly restrained himself from interfering, not wanting to. He wanted to break through and destroy the bearded behemoth.

Then Dean was thrown straight into Roman's arms, carelessly, like tossing aside a towel. He fell into him and to the ground, trying to regain his breath from being thrown across the ring and to get the blood out of his mouth. Other times he didn't care about that bitter taste in his mouth. Sometimes it was a jolt for him, something exhilarating that got him pumped up and more energized and made him feel more alive. But in this moment when he ran his tongue over his teeth, spitting out crimson drops to the ground while in his best friend's arms he felt tired. Almost lifeless.

He's been through worse, had been taken to the limit until his bones ached and he was spitting up his lungs. What happened tonight wasn't as tough as some others he's had in the past. How the hell could he feel like that when he's suffered through worse? Oh, he knew the answer to that. It was because Roman was battered along with him.

Next thing he heard was the ringing of the bell, declaring there was no contest, but either side could care less about that. It was a war, a battle of families. Just to beat the shit out of each other to make themselves known. He watched as his brother reached his breaking point and finally interfered, only to be tossed around in the same manner. He tried to help but it was like running into a brick wall. He did everything he could to try to drop the man, to make a dent in the beast's solid armor, even tried something as simple and effective as a headlock. Nothing worked. He and Roman were doing everything they could, but nothing stunned this man.

Then he saw his brother locked in that death bear hug, trying to fight his way out. Dean had snapped and resorted to the option that they should've chosen in their last couple of encounters with the Wyatts' black sheep. He ran into the ring with a steel chair and swung it hard, connecting with the man's back in an attempt to make him stumble and fall, some kind of benefit and upper hand. He managed to accomplish one thing in being that he was able to save Roman from being choked out from the man's grasp, but the shot barely did damage. It was just dust on his shoulder, easily to be brushed aside, futile.

His eyes widened in shock, flitting between the chair and the man. Shit. What would it take to drop this mammoth? He only angered a giant. Trying the chair again wasn't wise on his part but it was all he had to give and it was whacked out of his hands before he found himself laying on the canvas again. By that time the other Wyatts had came in and took care of Roman while Dean was trying to regain himself and get to his brother's aid but any intentions were crushed when Braun took hold of him one last time before the spots appeared before his eyes.

When it was all over he could barely make out the sounds of the audience chatting away. What he was able to make out was his brother laying on the other side of the ring, partially conscious. Dean pushed himself up, ignoring the battle scars he earned and crawled over to Roman, placing a hand on his back before helping him up. By the time they used each other as anchors to get to their feet they acknowledged the faint clapping from the crowd. Going out hard, that was how they always would go out in a fight, whether win, lose, or draw.

Going down swinging was the way to do it. To show that they weren't afraid or backing down. Never backing down.

They slowly walked up the ramp and headed backstage, their arms around each other's backs as they fought back on wincing at their pain. The corridors were buzzing a bit with workers and commentators and interviewers, but they paid no mind to them as they made it to their locker room. Shutting the door behind them Roman moved to plop down on the bench and straightened out his back, stretching. Dean ran a hand through his hair before removing his shirt.

He wanted to rest, but he figured he'd be sleeping late tonight. If he'd actually be able to _get_ some sleep, that is. Ever since these Wyatts starting fucking with them and their minds he's been having visions of them in his sleep—ones that made him irate. Ones that made him want to rip their beards clear off their faces and to shove them down their throats. Ones of them dropping hard, down along with their supposed Sister Abigail. All crap. Just countless ways that he could torture them for what they did to him and his brother.

Dean couldn't stop himself as he kicked at an empty trashcan in the corner of the room, knocking it over. Anything to get his frustrations out, he didn't care. He'd flip the benches over if he wanted to.

"Fuck!" he yelled.

"You okay?" Roman asked.

"About becoming a chew toy thrown into a lion's den? There's no way anyone would be okay with that." He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, pausing briefly. "Sure, yeah, fine, I'll be okay."

"Just relax, man," his best friend told him gently. "It's done and over with, we can't change what happened. There's nothing more we can do but wait until the next show."

Dean entered the bathroom and headed straight for the sink and turned the faucet on. He cupped some water in his hand before bringing it to his mouth, washing out the blood staining his lips from the cut and swished it around before spitting it out. He them brought both palms under the water and splashed it over his face. It stung his skin despite being cool, but it didn't bother him as he repeated the process a few times. He grabbed a cloth and ran it under the water and wrung it out. Exiting he went over to the small fridge in the corner and fetched two packs of ice then walked back over to Roman to hand him one and the rag while he placed his own pack on his ribcage.

Roman nodded in thanks. "Think a cold beer would be more useful at this point," he said with a grunt as he shifted in his seat, wiping his face with the rag. "Something refreshing."

"And something that's more of a painkiller," Dean added. "Then again we love feeling pain, huh? We're a couple of masochists." They were quiet for a short moment, collecting their thoughts. "I don't know how we're gonna get rid of this guy, Rome. The chair was as good as paper against him." Roman shook his head. "I should've grabbed the ringside bell and cracked it over his skull, that could've done something. Then again that might not've worked either. He's probably got a harder head than a dinosaur."

"Doesn't mean we'll stop trying," Roman said.

"'Course not."

"We'll figure somethin' out. You know what they say: the bigger they are, the harder they fall. We go out with guns blazing every night. This battle isn't over."

"It's not just cats and dogs now," Dean said, moving his ice pack to his other side. "It's more intense than that. We'll be fighting until every ounce of blood is drained out of us, it's war." He looked down at the red splotch mark on his lower ribs, cocking his head to the side as he observed its shape. "Does this look like the McDonald's logo to you?" he asked, pointing at it curiously and diverting from the subject. Well, somewhat.

"Can't see from here, lemme look," Roman said, motioning for him to come closer.

Dean came over and turned around, showing him the mark. "Kinda looks like I was branded."

His friend shrugged. "It actually just looks like the number three turned sideways."

"Like the McDonald's logo."

"Yeah, but just a little more rounded, that's all."

"Hurts like hell."

"You'll be all right. You've had worse."

Roman lightly tapped on the mark before standing from the bench and heading over to the locker.

"I know we've been through worse, it's just…I just hate them," Dean ground out. "Those Wyatts. Just thinking about them makes me wanna rip them apart, I _hate_ them with a passion!"

"I know, man," Roman said calmly. "Believe me, I want it just as much as you, but we can't let them get to our heads with their little games. We know what they're capable of doin.'"

"Then we should've known that they'd have Sasquatch come in their alleged 'family,'" Dean said with air quotes.

"Anything to keep us coming for more," Roman said, going through his locker.

Dean nodded, dropping his ice pack to beat it against his other palm out of frustration. "I'm just sick of them and everything they do. The sight of them, the sound of their names and voices. Even just the smell of them, every time I get a whiff of them I wanna go at them. I wanna rip off their arms and legs and beat them to a bloody end—"

"Dean."

"—wanna teach them respect with the bottom of my boots and bury them in the ground—"

"Dean."

"—God, I just wanna grab a barbed wire bat and swing them straight outta the park and—"

"Dean, chill!"

Roman's shout silenced Dean for the moment as he stood still and played with the ice pack in his hands with a tight jaw. He placed his hands on his shoulders.

"Listen to me, we need to keep a clear mind when dealing with the Wyatts. 'Cause the minute they get inside they won't come back out and they'll find a way to tear us apart. Their family has _nothing_ on us. When compared to us _we're_ the superior family. Blood brothers 'til the end. Like I said, we're not afraid of a fight, dude. We might have gotten our asses kicked again tonight, but we're not out. It's never stopped us before with all the other times we were beaten into the ground. It'll happen again in the future, it always will. But whenever we get knocked down we rise back up and punch them square in the face."

Dean sighed and nodded. He agreed with every word he was saying. He was his big brother, always there to trudge through the roadblocks with him. Always by his side no matter what. That was their code of honor towards each other. Brotherhood until the day they died. And that's the truth of it. They would go through Hell with each other without leaving the other behind. Their other former brother didn't live by that honor and sold out, stabbing them in the back like the traitor he was. They were all that remained of that faction and they'd be damned if it were taken away from them and tore them apart. Because it could never be broken. It was in their blood.

"Damn right, man," he said. "What's life without a little mayhem?"

Roman snorted at that before wrapping his arms around him for a few moments, any tension beginning to ease up, all stabbing pains that coursed through their bodies from the earlier beat down fading away. He winced a second later and pulled back and placed a hand on top of Dean's head, ruffling his hair.

"Just keep your head on straight, don't let it come loose," Roman told him, then arched an eyebrow. "You may be unstable and a loose cannon but just stay in your zone, man."

Dean narrowed his eyes briefly before nodding. If this was his backyard he would use any and every form of weapon—and even create a few of his own—just to prove to the Wyatts that he and his best friend were the wrong people to be messed with. He had said that this past Summerslam wouldn't be the last chapter in their rivalry and it wasn't. By these rates they're probably barely halfway through the story of their feud. Even if they were nearing the continuous end of the same outcomes and battles they would always be fighting them tooth and nail, until none of them could walk or talk, even if they were to pass each other in the halls of the next live event in some other country.

They've fought all over the world once already and will be making a few more rounds and trips. And he would gladly love to beat their faces in and raise some hell with his brother by his side. Every single time. They may get chewed up and spit out but they used that as fuel to charge on.

"I'm still thinking that a blowtorch'll be useful," Dean remarked. "You know, for an upper hand."

"Blowtorch?" Roman repeated with a faint smirk. "Seriously, you're still on about that?"

"Yeah. That or…I dunno, maybe some kind of pipe or maybe even a bullrope. I'd even settle for barbed wire tables."

"You know they don't allow that stuff here."

"Bullropes could meet the standards. Hey, whatever the hell can knock a giant down. Whatever can inflict the most pain, I don't care if I get disqualified."

"We'd probably need more than just a blowtorch, Dean. Something that won't have you arrested or fired."

"Fine, I'll hide a pair of pliers in my pants and use them to pluck every one of the Wyatts' teeth out."

Roman laughed. "Probably would have to wait until after the show 'cause it might be too extreme for their standards. And, need I remind you, it's not PG."

Dean snorted. "Fuck that, man, we can take them out in a dark alley if we have to. That's more like my turf, they won't know what hit 'em."

Roman shook his head and laughed. "Right up your _alley_."

Dean chuckled. "Exactly!"

Laughing through the pain all the while it was still bubbling inside of them. Nothing new. But it worked.

"Tell you one thing," Roman said. "They keep on trying to break us and it's clearly not working. All they're doing is pissing us off more until we bash their brains in and knock their teeth down their throat."

"They won't have no more teeth after I use the pliers, you know," Dean suggested jokingly. "Then we won't have to hear Bray's gums flapping around with his preaching. We'll show him."

"Just make sure you save enough of them for me," Roman said with a smirk. "Don't get greedy now."

Dean returned the grin and extended his fist for his brother to bump it. "Gotcha."

* * *

 **There we are then. I scribbled it down in about an hour, so it's not the greatest and as well thought out story. I tried. It just wouldn't leave me and I needed to get it down. Thanks for reading, see ya!**


End file.
